


Chest

by Pita Pan (Lizlow)



Category: Bad Apple Wars (Visual Novel)
Genre: F/M, Post-Canon, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-06
Updated: 2019-07-06
Packaged: 2020-06-23 13:38:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19702483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lizlow/pseuds/Pita%20Pan
Summary: The butterflies flutter up from her stomach and tickle in the inner most workings of chest. They dance, they play, and they cause her heart try and run to catch up. She doesn't want to drop the ball in a graceless fielding error, so she's trying her best to get her second wind.





	Chest

**Author's Note:**

> I feel like this got away from me a bit, but I'm out of practice and also wrote a lot of this very late into the night when sleep just was not having it. ANYWAY I really like Higa! I don't write him a whole lot, but I really, genuinely love him. This takes place post.. NEVEAH ACADEMY, so, you know, spoilers!

“Chin up and eyes of the ball, Rinka! I don’t wanna slug ya upright! Pops wouldn’t let me hear the end of it!” 

“Okay!” 

She’s trying her best to pay attention, to focus all in on this game Higa loves so dearly. It’s not difficult, because she too has come to love it. The feeling of the ball leaving her hand with a throw, the impact of it coming back to her glove. In line and perfect. And little by little, she feels a stir within her, and she finds it’s growing to be overwhelming, so she signals to Higa to call a timeout. It’s just the way  _ he _ taught her. There’s much she needs to process, emotions crashing against the batting cage and escaping the confines to be solid home runs. 

Her hand goes over her heart, and her glove over her mouth.  _ Breathe. _ It’s a ball-game, a team sport. She has to be in it. She  _ wants _ to be in it. 

Practice or not. Warm up or not. Higa’s happy like this, and she is too. 

“Don’t over work yourself!” 

“Mmm..!” 

Rinka thinks that this has happened before, because it has. In what feels like long ago, back at  _ that _ school. A memory only she can bring to the surface, but one their souls share. It’s a flutter, right in the center, causing her to smile, smile brightly, and it’s something Higa Katsumi really takes in. 

Higa’s glad, glad this manager of his, of the team, is having fun with this sport herself, even if it’s just playing catch. He’s glad she’s here, working her behind off just like the rest of them, helping motivate them even more to reach, reach for Nationals. His heart, too, this beating pump in his chest, feels at ease with this, like they were destined to do something as simple as throwing a ball back and forth. 

“Ya know, ya ain’t half-bad, Rinka!”

“Really?”

“Yeah, feels like you’ve played before.”

“Mmm, I have! I really like baseball!”

“That makes me happy to hear!”

His smile is one that causes yet another beat, and with it, she signals that she’s once again ready, and gets in position. 

The exercise is supposed to be good for her too. She knows that. Good for her health, good for her knowledge, good for her emotions. Just like they share the ball, they share their stresses, their worries. Baseball cannot be played alone. It’s a team effort. 

And they, they are a team! They feel it, feel it right in these chests of theirs. The joy, the pain, the sadness. The awkward longing, and the fluttering. 

_ But _ , one thing Rinka doesn’t feel anymore, that dragging down shadow of doubt, the stealing and sealing of existence into some machine. Yes, she’s finally freed from the one thing that haunted her for so, so long: 

_ She no longer thinks she’s empty. _

\---

Some-odd days later, but still deep within the baseball method and plan, they find themselves at the hospital. It’s just for a routine physical, one a bit more in depth all the same, to make sure him and those hard-working joints of his are in tip-top shape. Muscle repetition is a risk run far, so it doesn’t hurt to double - triple - check. 

That’s all the reason, fortunately, on why they’re here.

And Higa sees it, of course he does. Her hand going nervously over her heart, her shoulders stiff. It happens every time, and he can’t help but get stuck in worry. It drives him  _ mad _ , actually. He holds that comment back, and sticks to being right there for her, should she need that shoulder. It’s a need he feels, to be that back to lean on. 

All he can do right now, while he’s waiting for the doctor to check in, is give her a light chat. 

“Oi, Rinka.”

Is there something about these clean, white walls that makes her tense, anxious, pressed with every kind of memory? Is it because this was where she awoke, after being on the brink of  _ true _ death? Rinka wonders about this, as she sits down in a chair near Higa. 

“Rinka.” 

“Huh?” 

She looks up and over to him, and he smiles at her, worry seeping. A pause, and she smiles back, pushing out laughter. Embarrassed at her display, but comforted. Higa’s awkward when it comes to this sort of thing, but he has a really good heart. That much absolutely never changes. 

The doctor comes in, a young man with black hair, and he’s careful about examining all the joints that could be weakening. 

“That doctor... He was familiar...” 

“Oh, yeah? He’s the one you woke up to, right? Could that be it?”

“Mmm, probably...”

Does  _ he _ remember? That doctor, she means, about their time in that other world? When they all lived on the brink of death? Does he recognize Higa, even if the  _ Higa _ they are is different? Rinka doesn’t want to tell Katsumi it’s because she knows the doctor outside of this hospital, a younger him with dyed red hair, because she isn’t really sure. Sure if they’re the same, sure if it’s coincidence, sure if they all know it in their souls. 

Meeting again, souls aligned, it’s a ping in her chest, fated. 

Just like finding that flyer at her school, when she finally was able to come back, just like running into Higa  _ Katsumi _ , just like becoming their manager, just like...

_ Well _ , love is different, developed, over time, and she’s glad, glad to  _ feel _ , just down to the beat of her heart, that it’s fluttering, it’s there. 

“Ya know, he lets us regulars call ‘em somethin’ like  _ Aniki _ .”

“Does he?”

“Yeah, ‘least he told me I could,” Higa grins, “He’s pretty cool!”

So  _ Alma _ must remember, giving hints in his own way. Or this doctor is just very much like him. He seems very kind. 

The doctor comes back in and hands them the paperwork they need to prove everything is a-okay. And with all this, with Higa by her side and fine, her status comes to ease, just a little bit. She doesn’t want to stay here much longer; because her body, her body remembers everything. The closeness to death, the return to life, the impact. 

“Thank you, Sensei,” both her and Higa say as it’s time to be dismissed from the appointment. 

“Feeling better now that I check out right?” Higa asks her as hey step outside. 

Rinka looks at him, her hand moving to his forearm, then to his elbow. She’s just making sure. What if something was missed? These feelings in her chest, they’re overwhelming.

“Whoa there! Ya feelin’ sick? Maybe we should go back in and get ya checked... none of those late impact repro... repercussions, yeah?”

“No, I’m okay,” Rinka catches herself against him, and he ruffles her hair with his other arm, carefully. She continues, “I’m glad everything was fine with you. Can’t get injured before the big game.”

“Every game’s a big one! If ya don’t give your opponents that respect, ya can’t do your best.”

“Mmhmm!” Rinka smiles, knowing that any soreness in his arm that he might face isn’t permanent. Not yet. He just needs to keep up his stretches and watch his limits and he can continue to be an ace, part of a battery that will come to fastball the opposing team right out! 

It’s all right there, a fullness in her chest, a feeling that things are steady, things are progressing, things are alive. The  _ bump-bump _ and the  _ pump-pump _ all flow, all remind her that she is very much not empty, and this Higa is very much real. 

These experiences, the nervousness and the happiness, she adores them. She's processing them, she's getting there. Sometimes, sometimes it'll overwhelm her, even now, though her life is no longer a slate of greying, decaying existence. It's a beautiful, clear white, matching and mixing and holding up. A blue that sometimes becomes shaken, afraid, worried that things might shatter but - that's natural. Things end up alright. It's turning to hope, a brilliant, warm, welcoming flight, a line drive that flies off the bat and right where no one could have said, but everyone cheers on.

No one's going to call her out in this life, not anymore. 

Maybe the next day, he’ll place a cap on her head and bode well to good luck that way. It’s a song, see, a full-blown, top of the ninth victory rally chant that can rival the pro-league! 


End file.
